What Could Have Been
by TSRowenwood
Summary: "So in the end, when something terrible has happened to the members of the Batclan, the Bat has got to brood and the Bird has got to play." But Dick will always come back to Bruce's realistic, supportive arms after calming down in the embrace of fantasy. "No matter what."
1. Kari and Will

**. . . No idea where the inspiration came for this one. **

**Sorry if Bruce and Dick are a little OOC. I went with what felt natural**

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><p><em><strong>One Year Before Season 1 Began – Eighth Grade Year<strong>_

Batman could figure out many things, from who committed the smallest robbery, to where fill-in-the-criminal's-name planted a kryptonite-laced bomb so that he could save that blundering Boy Scout he called a friend. He wasn't known as the world's greatest detective for nothing.

Bruce Wayne wasn't so dumb either. He knew when someone was in whatever-it-was for the money and when Alfred was ignoring him because he'd obviously done something incredibly stupid.

But this, this scene before him, was something that neither Batman nor Bruce Wayne could figure out.

Dick Grayson was sitting on the front steps of Wayne Manor with a drawing pad on his lap and a pencil in his hand. He had yet to come in the house to change out of his Gotham Academy _**(1)**_ uniform. In all honesty, Bruce hadn't known that Dick was home until he'd been about to go out searching for him and nearly stepped on him.

It wasn't as though Bruce didn't approve; the pre-teen's artistic abilities were incredible and it'd be a shame if he were to suddenly stop. But he was worried. Every time Dick sat down to draw he'd talk aloud, as if he were talking to real people. And it wasn't just talking about the style of crosshatching and other such artist-talk. It was as if the kids he drew – besides himself – were real. He'd speak, leave a pause, and then seemingly answer a question that was never vocally asked.

This was certainly not the first time he'd seen it come out of nowhere. The question was _why_ was it always coming out of nowhere? _Why_ did it come out at all?

Bruce thought about the first time he had noticed Dick's hand-drawn imaginary friends.

**~ FLASHBACK ~**

Technically, he was supposed to be working on planning out the next big Wayne Tech meeting he would be having, but he'd gotten drawn away when he'd heard his barely ten year old ward, Dick Grayson, laughing.

Now, this wasn't an extraordinary occurrence – the boy liked to laugh a lot. But considering he still had at least two weeks of recovery (which Dick hated with a blazing passion) from the incident with Two Face _**(2)**_, it was a bit of a shock. However, that wasn't even the real shocker. The thing about the laughter was that it was spontaneous, and was followed by a, "Will, you're crazy! Kari's gonna kill you!"

Bruce knew for a fact that, unfortunately, Dick had a lot of trouble making friends due to his questionable status, both as an ex circus member and as his ward. He also knew exactly what kind of peple qualified as Dick's friend and who they were. He was The Batman, he couldn't help being a little overprotective. Both The Batman and Bruce Wayne knew that there were no friends of Dick's at school whose names were 'Will' or 'Kari'. And they certainly did not have access to this manor.

He stood up slowly from his chair, walked over to the door, and poked his head out just enough to get a good layout of the parlor.

There, lying on the floor, was Dick. He had a drawing pad in his grip, with several different Artist's Loft _**(3)**_ pencils spread around him. He didn't seem to notice the door opening, which struck Bruce as odd; Dick was always certain of his surroundings. The boy continued to draw careful, quick lines, all the while smiling brilliantly.

"Who are Will and Kari?" The pencil stopped as the first word was spoken. Dick looked up, surprised to see his guardian kneeling down to be on his level.

"Oh, umm . . ." Dick looked back down at his drawing pad. Bruce took a closer look at it and realized that it wasn't a simple doodle. It was no Van Gogh either, but it was fairly complex work for a ten year old. It showed an autumn scene (that looked suspiciously like the backyard of Wayne Manor) and two – no, three children. Only two were completely finished.

Dick pointed to the girl in the picture. Her jet-black bobbed hair seemed to swirl around her face. He'd set her standing on her feet, face towards the sky with her eyes closed and a soft smile on her face, with her arms outstretched to either side of her as though she were a plant soaking up the sun's rays.

"This is Kari," he said, sounding as though he were introducing her. "She's a little bossy, but she's real nice to her little brothers. She's standing like that 'cause she heard somewhere that you need at least ten minutes of sunlight every day, and so she decided that she was a plant." He looked up at Bruce and saw his baffled expression. He shrugged slightly with a quick smile and gave as explanation, "She's always done it."

He then pointed at the boy who was right behind Kari. He had very similar features to the girl (once you got past the auburn hair), except that instead of a peaceful expression on his face, his face housed what could only be described as a mischievous grin. In one hand was a fistful of dead leaves while the other was slowly pulling Kari's hood back, leaving a gap between the back of her hoodie and her neck. Bruce felt a small smile warm his sharp features.

Dick noticed his expression and laughed. "That's Will, and yes, he is about to shove the leaves down her back. That's why Kari's gonna kill him.

"Usually, Will's real quiet, but when he gets an idea of how to make Kari mad, he goes for it. He's real unpredictable that way." Dick fell silent.

After a few minutes when it became apparent that he was finished speaking, Bruce pointed to a boy standing slightly off to the side of Kari and Will. Dick had been drawing him when he came in. The child was scarcely more than a light sketch, but it was obvious that he was trying to contain his laughter by the way he was positioned. His body was doubled over; one hand was covering his mouth, which was most definitely a hidden smile, and the other arm was wrapped around his waist in an attempt to stop the giggles. "Who's that?"

Dick fidgeted uncomfortably. Well, as well as anyone who's in a body brace and leg cast can fidget. "That's me," he said after an awkward moment of silence.

"Are they friends at school?" Bruce knew what the answer would be before it was spoken.

"No." Dick added in his own suppressed grin into the drawing before continuing. "They're kids that cousin Johnny and I . . . gave life to. We used to play with them whenever we were upset or needed cheering up."

Bruce nodded. It made perfect sense that Dick would want to keep in touch with his family. All thoughts of convincing him otherwise left.

He was still a child, and Bruce didn't want to see Dick lose himself to the world of justice anytime soon. For now, Bruce would let Dick have his imaginary friends.

**~ End of Flashback ~**

Alright, so Bruce could possibly see how it had been therapy for the ten year old. He'd just gone through a life threatening situation and he had dealt with it in the only way he knew how – well, the only accessible way at the time.

But that was almost two years ago. Dick wasn't ten years old anymore, and he was now able to do things he hadn't been able to when he was in several braces. He could train, he could hang out with Barbara or Bette, he could practically do anything. So why didn't he? Why did he stick to the pad and pencil?

He was interrupted by a soft sigh of contentment.

"You always know just what to do, Kari. Thanks."

Which brought Bruce back to his fears that Dick may have already passed the thin line between genius and insanity.

Bruce shut the front door behind him and sat down next to his ward. Dick briefly looked up at him and gave a quiet 'hello'.

Bruce hesitantly put a hand on Dick's shoulder. "Are you . . ." What did one say at a time like this? ". . . okay?"

The response was instantaneous. "Nope," Dick turned to look at his guardian. He gave a small smile. "But I'll be alright in time for dinner." He returned to his drawing pad. Bruce peeked over his shoulder to see the position he'd drawn the three in this time.

Will, Dick, and Kari – respectively – were sitting on the white couch in Wayne Manor's parlor. They were squished together pretty tightly despite the couch being huge. The three were covered by a large quilt that they were working on. Dick was bent over, pushing a needle up through the fabric; Kari's needle and thread had been placed to the side of her while she pulled her bobbed hair into various pig-tails with one hand as the other rested on Dick's shoulder; Will was threading a needle with one hand (the needle poking out from between his lips), and looping his other arm through Dick's.

They were supporting him, holding him up.

Bruce sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Dick, what happened?"

The boy in question tensed, pulling Will's sewing needle out farther than necessary. He mumbled a word in Romani that Bruce wasn't familiar with; he had no problem believing that Alfred wouldn't have be too happy if Dick had said it in English. Dick pulled out an eraser and started erasing the accidental line.

"Richard, I can only help you if you tell me what's going on."

"That's the thing, Bruce," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "You can't DO anything unless you want a lot of unhappy parents on your hands."

"And why would I have that?"

He stopped drawing, and put the pencils and pad on the ground beside him before turning to look Bruce in the eye. "You'll actually have one set of upset parents today, though." He held up a hand before his guardian could say anything else. "I punched their kid in the nose today."

"Dick–!"

"Alfred got the call since you were still at the JL meeting. I asked him to drop me off here before he parked in the garage."

Bruce felt like slapping Dick upside the head, sometimes. Could he not see sense? "What if someone had connected the dots, Dick? You could have been compromised, and that's not the worst of it!"

Dick's hands curled into fists as Bruce continued with his rant. Finally, after what seemed to Dick like hours, Bruce finally took a deep breath and calmly asked:

"What on earth possessed you to punch him?"

The answer was little more than a whisper.

Bruce's eyes narrowed. "You're going to have to speak up."

The pre-teen took a slow breath. "Anthony Blake called me un murdar jumătate de rasa."

"Engli–"

"Half breed, Bruce. He called me a filthy half breed."

The older man's eyes widened. "Wha–"

Dick shook his head as he pulled his knees up to his chin. "I don't know. Somehow he found out that it was only tata who was Romani. He started saying horrible things about mami and I couldn't – I couldn't just let him tear up her name like that."

"I–"

"I was going to come talk to you later, I promise." Dick put a hand on the sketchbook. "But Kari suggested that finishing the quilt we started a long time ago would be good for me, and Will was pulling that dreadful kicked puppy look that I give you, and I couldn't refuse. I was upset enough as it was without having to look into those eyes."

. . . Which brought them back to his imaginary friends that Bruce came out here to talk about.

Bruce gave another deep sigh, praying dearly that Dick wouldn't blow up on him. How to put this delicately? "Dick . . . I was just in the parlor before I came out here."

"Yeah."

"There were no people sitting on the couch who were sewing a quilt. In fact, there was no one in the parlor except for me."

Dick let out an exasperated breath. "Yes, I know that. Stop beating around the bush. And there's no need for you to say my name in front of every sentence."

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose again. "Don't you think you're a little old to be having imaginary friends?"

His ward looked stunned for a moment. His gaze shifted from Bruce to the notebook and back to Bruce. There was a new confidence as he looked into Bruce's eyes. "Of course." He held up a hand before Bruce could cut in. "Let me explain." There was a deep intake of breath.

"Kari and Will aren't exactly imaginary, Bruce. They're real. Or, were real." Dick's slim fingers traced over Kari's face. "We were triplets. We were born in a moving trailer, somewhere in Nebraska, and Kari got sick. Really sick. She didn't live long." His hand picked up a pencil and delicately added in a few random spikes of hair to Will's mass of auburn hair. "I can remember Will. When we were four we were in California, and somehow he got caught out in the rain." His face screwed up before smoothing over. "We couldn't afford to take him to the hospital. Pop Haley could only give us so much. He died of pneumonia in just under a week."

Dick's hands flipped through the pages and stopped, resting on a drawing of two boys playing next to a trailer, a big top in the background. "When I was six, one of the elephants got sick. I didn't understand that it wasn't bad, just a little infection. All I knew was that my older sister and little brother were dead because they'd gotten sick. I was so scared, and no one could help until Johnny came. He told me not to worry because Kari and Will could see everything, and they knew that it'd all be good again soon. Then he made up the most ridiculous game imaginable with him playing both Will and Kari and me playing me. It was the most fun I'd ever had, other than flying. A few weeks later I was upset with something else, and he plopped down next to me and said, 'Kari would not approve of this.' And we played another game. Every time after we'd played Johnny would insist we take a picture of what'd happened," he knocked on the pad of paper. "Ergo the drawings.

"By the time I was seven I always went to Kari or Will before anyone else when I was frightened or hurt or angry. It was instinct." Dick leafed through a few more of the thick pages, more scenes of the triplets flashing by.

"When they were killed, Kari and Will became so much more important. They were the only two I could really keep a hold of while everything else was slipping out of reach."

Bruce ran a hand through his hair. He pulled Dick into a sideways hug. "I just don't want you forget that you live in a real world, not a fictional one," he murmured.

Dick pulled away. "Bruce, I know what goes on in my head. Let me explain it this way; Bruce, when the JL is being incredibly dense, what do you do?"

"I–"

The boy waved a hand, staring Bruce in the eyes. "That was a rhetorical question. I'll tell you when you can answer again. The answer is simple: You brood, Bruce.

"What do you do when Alfred has told you 'no' repeatedly to a stupid question and won't relent? You brood, Bruce.

"And it's the same way when I get hurt in the field or come back from being kidnapped. You make sure I'm not hurt, or get me the medical treatment necessary, and then you sit down and brood."

Dick took a deep breath. "But a Bird is different than a Bat. When the Bat has finally been recovered after being taken away from the Bird, what does he do? He flies off and plays.

"What does the Bird do when he's been kidnapped and put through he–" Dick glanced behind him at the doorway. "–a horrible situation?

His gaze finally shifted away from the door, convinced that Alfred was NOT going to pop up with the swearing jar. "He plays.

"So what does the Bird do when he's been bullied and picked on at school?" He gave the older man a pointed look.

Bruce let a small, sad smile find its way onto his mouth. "He plays."

Dick smiled back, letting Bruce pull him back into a warm embrace. "So in the end," he murmured, "when something terrible has happened to the members of the Batclan, the Bat has got to brood and the Bird has got to play." He gazed up at his guardian, appreciation in his cobalt eyes. "But he'll always come back to the Bat."

His blue eyes closed as he leaned into Bruce's strong arms.

"I mean that, Bruce. Kari and Will, they'll always be a huge part of me. I couldn't go on without them. They calm me down so that I can carry on in the real world. But after all of that, they're still just my brain's way of coping with the bad stuff. You're the most important part, because you're the first person I'll always go to when I'm done with all of the fantasy. You'll always be the first _person_ I talk to about anything and everything.

"No matter what."

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><p><strong>So funny story, when I first started writing this, Bruce started explaining everything. He's so pushy that way. Some of my original notes for the story actually have "In the flashback, don't have Bruce explain the characters. He's bossy and will try to, but don't let him. It's Dick's story, Bruce just happens to be telling that part of it" written on them. I had to rewrite most of the flashback because of that. <strong>

**Anyhoo, I thought it'd be okay to tell you that I fully intend for this to be three or four chapters long, just so you knew, even if I don't get the next one posted for quite awhile. **

**To the numbers:**

**1. I'm going with the assumption that Gotham Academy starts in seventh grade and that since Dick is a freshman in the first season when he should be an eighth grader, he skipped a grade somewhere. I'm going with the story that he skipped seventh grade. **

**2. Many people know this story, but I know a few who don't. Basically, Two Face captured a judge who convicted him, Batman, and Robin. He forced Robin to choose who would die first, Robin made a bet of it with the coin obsession-thingy that Two Face has, and the judge still died. Two Face then took the mask off of Batman (because Batman had a rope around his neck as if he were about to hang) and told Robin that he wasn't killing him – the Bat was. He then proceeded to hit Robin, and then swing a baseball bat at him several times. Luckily Batman got out in time to save Robin, but not without a price. Robin had many injuries, and Batman said, quote, "Alfred, he's dying". I imagine that it took at least two months for him to recover completely. Dark times, dark times. So there you have it.**

**3. Epic artist pencils. They're what I use. :) **

**I hope you enjoyed! Please tell me what you liked and what I could work on to make better.**


	2. Bruce

**You really must excuse the Harry Potter reference I will make in this part – I had no better way to write it, and I liked the part with it. No, I do not own, nor did I take any part, in the Harry Potter books or movies. Oh, and Seph's Madisen Moss is the brilliant writer of Alfred's speech. She understands him like no one else. :)**

**OOBER IMPORTANT NOTICE: By the by – It will most likely seem that Dick is a little crazy, and you know – possessed, but he isn't. The way that I'm taking to explaining the whole drawing thing is that Dick's subconscious (which he calls Kari and Will) knows what he needs, and kinda commands his brain to tell his arm what to draw. It's not exactly impossible. Sometimes we do what we need us to do even when we don't know it ourselves . . . if you can make sense of any of that . . . :)**

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><p><strong>30 Minutes or so After the Events of Failsafe, Everyone Else has Left the Room<strong>

It took awhile for Robin to realize that Batman was trying to get his attention. There was something wrong with Batman – no, the cowl wasn't on – Bruce. He was blurry. Almost as if –

Robin tried to read Bruce's lips – something about Martian Manhunter. Why couldn't he hear? – as he brought his hand to his suddenly un-masked eyes. When he pulled them away, they were wet.

He looked back at Bruce. The man's brow was furrowed, his eyes dark (well, darker) with concern. His mouth moved.

'Dick, where are you?'

No sound came through, however, like it hadn't been for the past several minutes.

What the _heck_ just happened?

One minute he's on a mission, the next he's told it was all in his head, the next he's completely blank and Bruce is kneeling before him . . .

The mission.

Slowly, memories started to come back. One first, then another, and another, and suddenly a waterfall came crashing down. He felt his eyes widening.

Bruce's hand came down on his shoulder. Dick looked up at him. He saw the look in Bruce's eyes.

Bruce wanted to talk.

And he would, after–

But where were Kari and Will? He couldn't talk to Bruce yet, he hadn't had a session with them!

And that was when he started running.

"Recognized. Robin. B-01."

* * *

><p>Dick felt bad for running from Bruce, he really did, but now was not the time. He needed Kari and Will more than anything. That was just –<p>

_Horrendous._

And then Wally had had the nerve to _fall to his death_ at the core of the mother-ship_ before_ the place exploded!

He vaguely recalled running past Alfred on his way to his secret place. The other one, not the rooftop that Bruce knew exceedingly well. But that was neither here nor there as he ran. All Dick knew was that he had to run. Had to get to Kari, had to get to Will, just had to leave that all behind. Get it out of his head.

Kari would have a field-day with this one.

Dick finally reached his little alcove and breathed a sigh of relief. He crawled through the opening, turned on the light, and locked the door behind him. Tears streamed down his face as the memories kept coming, but he forced them to a halt as he picked up a sketchpad and pencil.

Relief was coming. Relief was–

. . . here?

He shook his head. He was just tired that was all. Dick tore out the page and started again. There was Kari, her smiling – no, not smiling. Concerned.

Dick shrugged. It made sense that she would be. He'd never actually been crying as he started drawing before.

Next came Will – in the exact same position. What–?!

Those two were almost polar opposites. _That's completely abnormal, what is going on?_ Dick thought as he started to sketch in himself –

Only to find that he couldn't.

Dick started in fright. What was going on?

He started again. And again. And again.

But no matter how many times he drew them, they were always staring concernedly at him, pointing at a door that looked suspiciously like Bruce's office door. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't work his way in. Every time he tried he had to completely erase himself.

An entire notebook of pages had been torn out by the time Dick finally allowed himself a muffled scream.

It had always worked before! What was so different now?

Dick took several deep breaths before turning back to the identical pictures. He picked up one and studied it carefully before moving on to the next.

. . .

_Well,_ Dick concluded, _this is absolutely pointless._

He looked again.

_But,_ he sighed,_ if they both agree that I should go to Bruce . . ._

He wrinkled his nose as he looked at the door they continuously pointed to.

_. . . I guess I'll have to go to Bruce._

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><p><strong>20 Minutes Earlier<strong>

Bruce ran after Dick through the zeta-beam, across the Batcave, and up the stairway to the parlor. Before he could continue the chase up the stairs, Alfred put a hand on his shoulder.

Bruce shook it off in annoyance. "I need to–"

"The young master has decided to lock himself in the small storage cabinet located beneath the fifth stair. I would not suggest trying to reach him. He will come to you, Master Bruce."

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose before nodding. Then he walked back to his office, closed the door, sat down and waited.

* * *

><p>Three short knocks permeated the study.<p>

"Come in."

Dick did so, quietly pulling the door behind him shut. He sat down in the chair opposite Bruce. There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment.

"Why . . . why aren't you with Kari and Will now?"

Dick gave a mirthless laugh and pulled several crumpled up sheets of paper from his hoodie pocket. He smoothed one of them out before placing it on Bruce's desk. "That's why not."

Bruce took the paper and held it up to the light. There were two figures in the figure, Kari and Will, both staring up at him (Dick) with worried eyes. They were both pointing to a door that (Bruce noticed) looked suspiciously like his own. Then there was a third figure in the corner, but he'd been partially scribbled out, partially erased. He looked up at Dick.

The boy took the paper and shoved it back in his pocket. "They all look like that. They won't help." There was a pause before he whispered, "They can't. Not this time." He looked up, red-rimmed eyes pleading. "Why can't they help me, Bruce? I don't understand."

The older man thought for a moment, honestly perplexed, until a peculiar thought struck him.

"Maybe . . . maybe they can't help you . . . because the failsafe mission wasn't real." Dick just stared at him. "When you explained who Kari and Will were to me, you told me that they came when you had been hurt or were scared or angry, because of a circumstance or because someone did something to make you feel that way, right?"

Dick nodded. "Right."

"And you said that I would be the first person you'd go to _after_ all of the fantasy was done."

"Da."

Bruce hesitated, working it through his mind before saying, "But today, everything that happened to you _was _a fantasy.

"So when you went to Kari and Will, who help you with your real life, they couldn't do anything to help, because what you'd just gone through wasn't _real_."

The confused look faded from Dick's eye. "Fantasy doesn't battle fantasy, it battles real life."

"So maybe," Bruce continued softly, "this time, the places have to be reversed. Instead of going to Kari and Will first, you need to talk to someone real first. They can be the very first people you go to after something bad has happened in your fictitious world."

Dick nodded again as tears once again welled up. "Can I . . ." he listed off.

Bruce came around and gently guided Dick onto the couch at the other end of the room. He wrapped his arms around his wonderful child. And Bruce just sat there, holding his ward, his – dare he say it? – son while Dick told him everything about the failsafe mission that he would later tell Black Canary (although, admittedly, Dick would water down the entire tale while talking to the 'therapist' of the team).

When all was said and done (Dick doing the major talking, Bruce whispering comforting phrases and assuring him that he was not a bad person and he did _not_ want him to become Batman) Dick smiled – a real, genuine smile – and left, ready to go back to his (now repaired) fantasy land.

Now, after Dick had fixed most of it with Bruce and the real world, now he could fix the rest with Kari and Will.

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><p>Bruce later found Dick asleep on his bedroom floor, paper spread around him, pencil still in hand, smile still on his face. As he gently tucked his ward into bed, one thought circulated throughout his mind, one that would have filled him with contempt only a year ago:<p>

Kari and Will were supporting him, holding him up. And they always would.

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><p><strong>As soon as I wrote the first chapter the thought entered my head, "What if it wasn't the real world that hurt Dick, but a fictional world? They wouldn't be able to help him, because technically their fictional, too." Ergo, Failsafe came into play.<strong>

**Drop me a line. Don't drop me a line. :) Thanks for reading!**


	3. The Team

**Straight After Failsafe, As In, the Day After**

When Robin went to the cave the next day, it was still very much in the same condition that it had been in the night before:

utter CHAOS

In a manner of speaking. The cave was spotless. But he could hear a fierce battle raging in the gym (probably Conner and Artemis, they both needed a good fight to get their emotions out) and a frustrated voice in the kitchen with appliances turned on.

He walked into the living room to see more evidence of the chaos: Wally on the floor trying fruitlessly to get AP Chemistry homework done with an untouched plate of sandwiches next to him.

Kaldur was on the couch, seemingly impervious to the abnormality around him. He looked up from his book as Robin made his presence known with a few louder-than-normal footfalls. It was then that Robin could see chaos' existence. Kaldur's eyes were exhausted.

"Robin. How do you fare?"

Ah, yes. Kaldur always retreated to his most formal speech when _over_whelmed. Not that he wasn't ever informal, but every once in a while, when he was really relaxed, you could catch him adding in a few contractions. This was most definitely a stressed out Kaldur'ahm. He was deceptively calm. A little work on his eyes and perhaps–

Robin mentally shook his head. Now was not the time to consider training techniques.

"I am . . . ploded. Not exploded, not imploded, but just–"

"–Ploded." Kaldur's smiled for a moment.

Robin smiled back. All was not lost, not if Kaldur was actually going along with his English Enhancing Movement.

Then again, it could mean that Kaldur was far enough gone to where he was beyond the point of caring. And after what happened yesterday that was a reasonable deduction.

But Robin was trying to be an optimist, and optimists did not think such things. One way to know for sure.

"And yourself?"

Kaldur was hesitant in responding. "I am . . . well, all things considered, thank you."

Liar. But Kaldur was ever the peacekeeper and had always put himself last. Robin decided that overall, Kaldur was doing fine. He obviously wasn't, but this was fairly standard Kaldur behavior. He just needed a little push into the 'whelmed' side of the pool. He was a tad too far in 'overwhelmed' right now.

Robin inwardly sighed; if this was Kaldur, than everyone else would be _way _too far into 'overwhelmed', pending on the 'distraught' side.

"Oi, Baywatch, get your butt out of the middle of the floor!"

Robin's head snapped up. Dang, his Ninja-in-Training was getting good. He hadn't heard her enter the room.

_Note to Self: stop teaching her to be like Bats (in general, not the actual man) in noise-level, you still need to be able to keep track of her. She is the Ninja-in-Training, not the Ninja. That's your job._

Artemis ignored Wally's mumbled protests (First the sandwiches still on the plate and now he didn't rise to Artemis' bate?) and stepped over him, shortly thereafter collapsing on the couch next to Kaldur. While Artemis was no girly-girl, she usually did put a little thought into what she was wearing; today, however, she sported an oversized Alice in Wonderland T-shirt and baggy sweatpants that were two sizes too big. To complete the picture, her hair was pulled into a sloppy ponytail instead of its usual military order.

"Nice to see you, too, 'Mis."

Artemis lazily glanced over at Robin.

"No one said anything about it being nice to see _you_, Short Stuff."

Robin huffed, but grinned all the same. "Way to make a person feel welcome, Blondie."

Artemis smiled, but - Robin noted - there was a sharper edge to it than could be completely friendly.

"I was put on the team to shoot people, not to be the welcoming committee."

"You wound me!" Robin smirked, dramatically clutching at his chest, trying to figure out where in the world she was going.

At his humor, Artemis felt her frayed patience, which was thin enough to begin with, snap. It wasn't the Boy Wonder's fault, and she knew it, but Artemis had been raised in a family where nothing was black or white or calm. Be strong for her mom, don't let her dad break her, kill and be able to live with the consequences of said killing.

Yet here she was, falling to pieces over a game the League decided to play with their brains. A stupid game where she couldn't even manage to die right! And this little thirteen-year-old midget was smiling and all right and strong and everything she wasn't. She saw him yesterday, saw his cheeks wet with sweat and tears and a small spiteful part of her was glad that he was just as torn as she was. Someone else who was as human as her.

And now it was like that Robin and the vulnerability he'd shown was gone, leaving her alone, weak, exposed, and guilty in front of her teammates. They'd done everything right and were so perfect and untainted and blissfully more than human. Superhuman. Then she'd died. It felt like betrayal.

Artemis blew up. "How can you be so calm about this?! Yesterday you were as upset as the rest of us and now –" Artemis gestured towards Robin in general, her initial burst of adrenaline gone.

He gave a small smile. "You could say that I've got my own . . . therapy session that I go to every once in a while. Yesterday definitely constituted as a good time for one."

Artemis stood there staring at him for several tense minutes. "Yippy for you." She turned and stalked towards the changing rooms.

"I am sorry, my friend." Kaldur spoke softly, placing a hand on Robin's shoulder. "I believe we are all still unwell from yesterday."

"No, it's fine," Robin said. And it was. It wasn't completely expected, but to be perfectly frank (What was up with that phrase? Who's Frank, and why is he perfectly anything?), this was Artemis. She _died_, and probably had a buttload of more reasons easily on hand for being _dis_traught. She needed downtime. "I get it." This was me all of yesterday, he mused to himself. At least, until Kari and Will had come in and made it all better.

. . . hmm . . .

He turned back to face Kaldur. "Actually, I think I'm going to head out. I think I could do with a bit more downtime."

Kaldur nodded and returned to his book. Robin winced. No formal goodbye? Maybe Kaldur was a little bit more than just a little bit on the 'overwhelmed' side.

Once he left the cave, he began thinking of the inspiration that had come to him.

If Kari and Will were able to help him through the Failsafe . . .

. . . then why couldn't the set of triplets help Robin's teammates?

**That Afternoon**

It took him a long time, but he was finally finished.

He hadn't wanted to have anything to do with hero work in the drawings, which was why it'd taken longer than it should have. It took a lot of thought to figure out what each of his teammates liked best, or what he thought they'd enjoy.

But now was all that mattered, and now they were done.

So he shoved on a pair of sunglasses and zipped back to Mt. Justice. He slipped each drawing into their receiver's room and then quietly retreated to his own room to report to his two favorite siblings and for a decidedly well-deserved nap.

Mission accomplished.

**Much Later That Evening**

Despite all of M'gann's hopefulness, the kitchen was in total shambles by the time M'gann gave up and ran off to her room to cry it all off.

Why did she have to make a mess of everything? She knew her cooking wasn't as good as her teammates pretended for her sake, and she wasn't as good at the hero business as everyone else, and she couldn't get these stupid Earth rules half of the time, and–and–

_What's this?_

There, on her bed, was a colorful sketch of the kitchen she'd just left, but the messes in this one were much more comical than they'd been a moment ago.

There she was, seemingly collapsed on the floor, her brilliantly pink apron covered in something green and orange as she held her stomach with laughter. M'gann laughed alongside her counterpart as she looked to the source of the laughter, namely Robin. He was at the island grinning a thousand-watt grin, trying desperately to put the lid back on the blender, which was _turned on_. He was also covered in the green/orange liquid that was thusly being spewed forth.

M'gann looked toward the corners of the pages where two people she didn't know rested. One, who was definitely a girl regardless of her short black hair, looked rather a lot like Robin. She was practically howling with laughter, wiping away at tears on her face. The other, a boy with auburn hair, also resembled her friend. He was grinning deviously, hand on the 'ON' button of the blender. M'gann smiled, so this was the culprit.

Tearing her eyes away from the picture was difficult, but M'gann did so wiping away her own tears. But they weren't tears of distress.

"Thank you," she whispered.

* * *

><p>Wally had been all over video games before he could even wrap his fingers around a Game Boy, and when he'd gotten old enough to actually play them, he was hooked. He loved the way he could live in a virtual reality, with different people, or –heck– be a different person. He loved the way everything looked and sounded. And even when he didn't win the game (thanks to insanely talentedcheater friends *coughDickcough*), it was great to be able to be 'doing' something while joking and laughing with friends.

But last night took the term 'virtual reality' _way_ too far. Mega-too-far. Any-adverb-too-far.

He'd never admit it, but when Artemis died . . . As stupid as it sounded, Wally _liked_ arguing with Artemis. A lot. Probably more than he should've. And maybe there was an itsy bitsy teeny weeny cru–NO!

No, there were certainly none of – _those_.

When Wally gave up on his AP Chemistry homework and went back to his room, he didn't even need to read the signature or see the people in the picture to know who'd drawn it. The fact that there was a board game on the table surrounded by kids was enough.

It was common enough for the team to think that Wally would never have the patience to sit down and play a board game; he always headed for the TV to watch or set up the Nintendo (he still liked the old stuff) or Wii. But all of Wally's true friends knew that in the end, the electronics were a way to hide from the pain of a world where he had to live with his uncle. _**(1)**_ His real obsession, truth be told, was board games. Any kind of board game, he just loved playing them. You got to actually interact with real people, and you didn't have to constantly hit the 'pause' button to make a comment. They were good friendship formers.

They were playing SORRY, that obnoxiously annoying game that Wally never won because everyone always ganged up on him. That's not to say Wally didn't love the game. He'd never _not_ loved that game. He was on one side of the board, clutching his chest in mock despair, a slight upwards curve at his lips. Kari's arms were up in the air triumphantly shouting what was obviously an 'I WON!' as all of her pawns were in the centre of her colour. Will had his head flat down on the table-top with shaking shoulders from laughing so hard, visibly upsetting all of the pawns. Dick was smirking at Wally, mockingly patting his best friend's hand.

Wally grinned.

* * *

><p>As if Conner's faith in the League could <em>get<em> any lower.

Apparently, it could.

To make a long story short, Conner was confused, angry, and upset.

Confused because why would the League do that kind of thing to their team? Why would they set them up for failure to begin with? Why wouldn't they have remembered that one of them was a telepath and could theoretically make everyone forget that the mission was only pretend? Not that he blamed M'gann in the slightest. He blamed the Justice League entirely.

Angry because he hadn't been able to protect any of his teammates. Yeah, he'd been able save a couple of civilians, but in the long-run it didn't even matter. What was the point? Angry because why hadn't the League done anything earlier and why couldn't the _team_ do anything about it? They should have known something was wrong – he should have noticed something was wrong.

Upset was thrown into his emotional turmoil as a by-product.

What good would he ever be? He couldn't even help protect his teammates right. M'gann was crying, Artemis was as vicious as a hornet, Kaldur was off in–what was it–Neverland, Wally was kind of just there, and Robin–

Robin was looking out for everyone else. He'd heard the conversation in the common area, and could hear Robin's 'I'm-subtly-trying-to-figure-out-how-all-of-you-are-doing' tone. He'd heard that same quality in Black Canary's voice one too many times. If Conner had gotten one of these pictures, then everyone else must have one, too.

He felt something different as he looked at the picture again. Longing? Hope? Maybe a mixture of the two. Robin had drawn four figures (three with raven hair, a fourth with auburn) on top of Mt. Justice, gently lighted by the moon and stars, looking at the big open night sky. You could see the beginnings of an arm of the Milky Way appear out of the corner. The one who was most likely Robin was pointing up at a constellation in the sky, undoubtedly telling the story at the same time. It seemed like a Robin thing to do. The biggest of the three, Conner himself no doubt, was listening with rapt attention, tracing the same constellation in the air with his own finger. The other two listened, and while he couldn't really see their faces, he knew that they were sliding in details every so often.

Conner let his frowning grimace curve upwards. Robin had been trying to help Conner find a hobby for some time now. It generally failed; Conner just didn't like most of the things they tried out. But the Boy Wonder could not be deterred. Maybe this was his way of saying that they'd try star-gazing next time.

Next time. A phrase filled with hope, and a degree of longing. There would be a next time. The team could get through this. He could get through this.

It would be all right.

* * *

><p>Kaldur was exhausted. All he seemed to want to do was sleep, to escape to a dream-world where he didn't have to deal with this. But he was the leader, so he did, or at least, he felt an obligation to. Even so, his body eventually won him out and dragged him into his bedroom where he did something so unlike Kaldur it wasn't even funny: he flopped down onto his bed.<p>

And instantly heard a crackle of paper.

Kaldur sighed as he rolled over, bringing the paper slowly to his face to see what he'd landed on.

Curiously enough, it was of Kaldur himself, waist-deep in a lake he'd never seen before, shoving water at a boy with auburn hair. Kaldur was smiling at the boy, whose arms were up as a weak defense against the waves and whose face was bright, if not slightly alarmed by the water headed his way. An ebony-haired girl sat off towards the edge of the page on a rock, letting her toes splash, making small rings around her feet.

Kaldur raised an eyebrow – they couldn't be anything less than Robin's brother and sister. It was curious that Robin would choose to add them in, but to be honest, Kaldur didn't think it was complete without them. While he could easily have been pushing water at Robin, the Boy Wonder was in a much more childish and fitting position, jumping into the pool right behind Kaldur where he wouldn't be seen until much too late.

For the first time in a long time, Kaldur smiled a genuine smile. He was always the leader, the one who was supposed to be in charge and make the ultimate decisions. People thought of him as the calm, responsible one who didn't have time for fun. He certainly hadn't had the chance to do anything like the picture depicted for a good long while.

Perhaps he would soon take the chance to.

* * *

><p>Artemis had been to two street fairs in her lifetime. The only time Gotham had ever had one was when she was ten years old when Haly's Circus had come to town. It was the way they had made their entrance. She'd loved the look and swinging of the acrobats and tumblers, fascinated by their way of making you think they danced on nothing but air. She'd loved all of the stalls that lined the streets full of interesting and exotic things to try and purchase. And the people you met at those stalls were just as interesting and exotic.<p>

The second time was on a . . . less than desirable training mission in Germany with her father at age twelve. Their target had been somewhere between where the fair started and where it ended, so they'd had to blend in. That meant looking and being interested in what was going on, even if it was supposed to be fake interest. It was the best part of the entire mission.

How the little snot knew about her dream to go to a full-on fair with a Fun House and wide walkways and game booths and a Farris wheel was beyond her, but she was kind of glad he did. The picture was perfect, and now she felt really bad about the way she'd belittled him earlier.

The scene was set at the top of a Farris wheel, with only the top two seats really showing. Below them in the corner you could see a full fair going on, complete with Fun House and game booths. In the seat closest to Artemis were herself and Robin. She was grinning as she looked out over the fair. Robin grinned as he used the opportunity to steal some of the floss off of her cotton-candy whilst glancing behind them.

She followed his gaze to the back where two persons she didn't know were seated. They both looked like Robin, albeit the feminine look of the one and the auburn hair of the other. They sat in the top seat, the girl pretending to fall out of the seat while putting on a ridiculously humorous face as the boy dramatically held onto her waist.

She giggled at the sight, and went back to Robin, who was still looking at them, but keeping an eye on her all the same, grin reaching his ears. All three were obviously important to him (Artemis couldn't deny the fluttery feeling of happiness at that, she had _friends_ and maybe even another _family_), but who were the other two? Siblings? Hadn't he or one of her other teammates once mentioned the Batcave being overly crowded? Or were they just people that he made up to add more colour to the drawing?

Artemis bit her lip, glancing at the door.

* * *

><p>"Rob . . ."<p>

Robin sat up from his doodling, turning to face the voice. Artemis stood in the doorway, looking a little awkward and a tad embarrassed.

"Yes, 'Mis? What'd you need?"

She held up a piece of paper. No, a picture.

"What . . . what is this? Who are they?" As she spoke, she came and sat down on the bed beside him. She held out the picture to him. She pointed to one of the four figures in the picture. "'Cause that's me," she pointed at the next figure over, "and that's you." She then moved her fingers to the last two people. "But I don't recognize them."

Unbeknownst to Artemis, Robin's bedroom door opened a little bit more. Robin knew, though; he'd felt the breeze, and knew that he would need to answer it for _all_ of them.

He pointed to the black-haired girl. "That's Kari." He then pointed to the auburn-haired boy. "That's Will. They're . . ." Robin hesitated. "That therapy session I mentioned earlier – Kari and Will are that therapy session. They're a place I go when I'm upset. I just thought . . . I thought that maybe you'd like to share it with me."

A half-sob was heard. "Oh, Robin."

Artemis, wide-eyed, jumped to her feet as M'gann breezed past her to pull the artist into a hug.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you so much. I love it. I love you," M'gann looked into Robin's eyes, her own sparkling with tears. "I love them. I know what they mean to you. And you still shared them with me, with us."

There was a chorus of 'thank you's and a 'Here, here!' from behind the two, and then the hug turned into a conglomeration of teenage heroes, with Conner getting around last, which pushed Artemis into the bed, upturning all of the teens onto the bed with shrieks.

They stayed there for a while, absurdly content with the position. At least, until Wally said:

"So . . . who's up for a round of Monopoly?"

* * *

><p><strong>Oh my giddy aunt. Eight pages on a Word document. And Conner's section the longest, much to my surprise! I am ridiculously happy with this chapter - though truth be told, writing Artemis was a lot harder than I thought it was going to be. But I am satisfied. How about you? What do you think?<strong>

**1. Since we know that Wally has a perfectly good relationship with his parents at the end of Season 2, I'm going with there was a change. This fit too perfectly in here to **_**not**_** go in.**

**Thanks for reading!**


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